Bronchitis

Hello, bronchitis, my old friend.

I've come to cough with you again.

Because a germ, softly creeping,

left its seeds while I was sleeping.

And the hacking that was racking

on my lungs, is still not fun.

Amid the sounds of springtime.

Thank goodness for z-packs.

How Many Licks Does It Take to Get to the Center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?

AKA How Many Pictures Must One Take to Get a Decent Picture of All the Cousins in Their Easter Outfits.

The answer is NOT a one, a two, a three.

The Little One escapes before his mother finishes dressing him. (Yes, it is vaguely ridiculous that a child who refuses to talk and who is still months away from his 2nd birthday is not only toilet trained, but has adorable boxer briefs on his hiney.)

Okay, now this time he has clothes on, but there just something lacking about this picture:

Time to zero in on Littlest Girl. She, too, has cute underwear we see.

And cute nostrils, apparently.

Hold on, Ms. Thing needs to finish drying her hair.

Several pictures later, and with direction from ALL the grandparents, aunts, uncles, mothers and fathers, we have a pretty decent picture.

And at least, for once, The Eldest was not to blame for the paparazzi flashbulb* effect after Easter Dinner.

(*Yes, I know there are no flashbulbs anymore. And if that's not something to be thankful for, I don't know what is!)

And Now for the Talent Show...

Why does my daughter insist on being in the talent show at her elementary school?

I am not a choreographer. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I took tap as a four year old, and fell in the YMCA recital, thus ending my illustrious dance career before it even started. Yet, here I am again, critiquing one handed cartwheels and pirouettes, and discussing the merits of differing songs for performance impact.

One year, my daughter managed to talk her brother into dancing to the Cha Cha Slide, that song of so many talent acts. He was mortified, and to this day, I can't believe he agreed to it. I think it's telling that he has since refused all inducements to recreate his moment in the sun.

The next year, she and a few dance buddies took their competition dance from their dance school to the talent show. This involved days of negotiating who would stand where, and what they would wear, and debates on how the dance actually went.

Last year, I convinced her to take a break and let her talents ferment for a year, so as not to tire her classmates with her blinding dance talent.

Lest you think I am unnecessarily critical of her dance skills, I have to say I am really proud of my daughter; she takes 5 dance classes, and faithfully goes to dance 3 nights every week, September through May. She lobbied hard to join the competition team, and the group dances she has participated in have won gold and platinum awards.

It's just that awkwardness that I fear in my grown-up self, seen mirrored in my kids' elementary talent performances, that makes me squirm. What if everyone laughs at them? What if they forget their moves? When they are up front with no one else to depend on, what if something goes wrong and they can't recover?

It kills me. But she, unknowing or not, gets up in front of her classmates and dances. I hope she is always that brave.

So, here we go again, on the Talent Show Roller Coaster. She'll be the one in the front, waving her hands and dancing her heart out to Miley Cyrus, awkward or not. And I'll be applauding.

No Fighting While We're Making Memories!

Guess what time it is, folks!!

It's time for another annual holiday fight night tradition!

Don't believe the finger halos.

There's trouble in River City, and it sounds like vinegar-dissolved dye tablets.

First, the Egg Nazi must measure the supplies.

Ethan claims his colors.

Mom wistfully wishes there was some extra flavoring in that orange drink.

Meg manages to dye eggs without cracking a single one.

People who hogged the best dye cups got the prettiest eggs.

Persistence pays off?

Ethan's massive boy-man hand showing off piss lime green dye.

Look, Ma! Dying eggs and no tears!! Amazing!

May you have a Happy Easter and a blessed Holy Weekend!

Preferably without egg dye on the carpet!

Crazy Dance weekend

This was going to be a 'hey, I'm back, gonna post every week at least' kind of post, with a big kick off photo spread of me and the girl at her Pittsburgh dance competition, but.....

Alas.

I have a few photos like this:

Instead of lots of photos like this:

Not because she didn't win, but because I was a lousy photodancemom, and I was fighting off the cold she so generously gifted me on Friday. Also because Mr. Grumpy was one of our travel partners:

And because this was not one of our travel partners, who could have corralled people a little better:

I think next time, my mom and I will take a spa vaca, instead of herding dancer-ettes around.

In Honor of Veterans in the Family

For my cousin. US Navy 1992-1996.

For my dad. US Navy, 1968-1972, US Naval Reserves 1972-1994.

For my father-in-law. US Army, Vietnam 1966-1969.

For my husband's grandad. US Army, WWII, European theater.

For my grandad. US Marine Corp, WWII, Pacific theater.

For my great-great uncle. US Air Force, WWII. Shot down and killed over France.

For my cousin serving in the US Army now. For my grandmother's husband, WWII. For the veterans in our family who served in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars.

Happy Veteran's Day

World War II Redux

As a part of our (mostly unsuccessful) summer schooling experiment, we planned several field trips. One planned trip was to the county airport to eat in the restaurant and watch the planes land and take off. I should note that we live in a rural area, so there is really no security that prevents you from entering the lobby (or the two gates, for that matter). Reading in the local paper that there was to be a visit from two refurbished World War II airplanes solidified our plans.

In preparation for our afternoon, I dug out an old book that my grandma had given me when I was little. It was titled Air War in Hitler's Germany, and the cover says it is a part of the American Heritage Junior Library. The most notable thing about this book is that Grandma had written in it in Sharpie (she did that a lot with books, boxes and other items; once, I saw her basement cupboards lined with white paper on which she had written when she had cleaned them and when they were due to be cleaned again. I am failing mightily to live up to these standards of cleaning.). In this case, the Sharpie was to commemorate her Uncle Arthur, who served in WWII.

My grandma idolized her uncle. Arthur Stiles was about 10 years older than his niece, Mary Lou, who was teenager during the War. My grandma's mother came from a large family; she was the oldest and there were siblings that ranged on down to the age of her daughter, my grandma. Arthur was a radio man on a Flying Fortress. He wrote her letters and called her Hootie Ki, teased her about her lousy math grades. And then his plane was shot down in France.

My grandma didn't talk about Arthur very often, at least not to us grandkids. I knew that I had had an uncle who was killed in World War II, but I didn't realize then what that must have meant to the adults in my life who were children during that time.

Newspaper clipping from the Clearfield Progress, 1993.

So, off we went to see the planes and hopefully for Ethan and Meghan, to learn a little more about family history.

It was beautiful August day in central Pa; hot and sticky, made more so by climbing in and out of tight spaces.

Kids viewing forward area of B17 Liberator.

Ethan, walking on a gangway between landing gear on his way to the rear section of a B24 Liberator.

Manning the waist gunners' station.

Kids in front of the B 24 J Liberator "Witchcraft".

Requisite picture of the kids holding up the plane.

A B17 Flying Fortress.

Pilot and co-pilot stations.

Photos of Arthur Stiles at the radioman station on the B17 Flying Fortress "Nine-o-nine".

Message to Hitler in the bomb bay.

Ethan and Meghan, waiting for cold drinks and pie in the airport diner.

In honor of all WWII veterans, living and remembered, this Veteran's Day.